


Family Revised

by Shiggityshwa



Series: Addendum [4]
Category: Stargate SG-1
Genre: Canon Compliant, Character Development, Episode: s10e18 Family Ties, Gen, Missing Scenes, Team Bonding, Vignette
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-03-20
Updated: 2019-06-01
Packaged: 2019-11-26 02:25:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 5,050
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18174587
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Shiggityshwa/pseuds/Shiggityshwa
Summary: Third in a series of stories containing vignettes from episodes in the 9th and 10th season to help develop Vala's character more. This one adds six scenes to Family Ties. Canon compliant so there are no pairings, but there is some sexual tension because it's Vala.





	1. Spree

**Author's Note:**

> This is my least fav episode. I still have two chapters to write, but I just really hate this episode, so it's super hard.

The Tau’ri have entirely too many clothes.

She’s been a Goa’uld with access to riches among riches while her slaves barely had enough fabric to cover their bodies, she’s had fine silks woven by blind grandmothers and inlayed with gold and rubies in clusters to match Qetesh’s favorite constellations, she’s had battle armor reinforced with many types of metal, heavy and serrating against her chest, but impenetrable by blades, she’s witness fairer maidens be slaughtered for Qetesh’s want of their dresses.

But it is all incomparable to the Tau’ri and their need to line store after store with dozens of racks of shirts and slacks and shoes that all begin to look similar after the third boutique.

When she was a child, her planet impoverished by a Goa’uld, her always grumbling stomach was hidden beneath little more than a cloth bag that had been cinched at the waist by a bit of rope. By the time she was a teenager, her mother had passed on, and in her wake, she was able to wear her dresses of a more ornate fashion, but still peasant’s dress, not unlike the garbs she wore when she was married to Tomin. Definitely of inferior standards, indicative of lower class, and utilitarian in use.

Those were some of her favorite dresses though. Her mother’s scent remained on them for almost a year after.

“Are you getting bored?” Samantha pops her head up from a rack. It’s nice to see her friend unburdened and able to grin and enjoy herself away from the mountain.

It’s also good to be away from the mountain which has passed it’s period of endearment to her, upon returning she found the familiar hallways and rooms comforting, but now they’re claustrophobic. So, she lies. Only a little. “No, Darling, I’m just perusing the other shops lining the atrium.”

But Sam smiles tightly, perhaps becoming savvy as to when she’s stitching fibs into their conversation. That dress looks lovely on her, and she has a few hangers of clothes she’s interested on trying on, something else so basically Tau’ri that it’s almost humorous.

All of these people, the men on their cell phones, the women scaling through rack after rack trying to find a good deal, the children attached to electronics that are loud and jarring, know nothing about what lies beyond their atmosphere. Are so self-absorbed that they haven’t given a second to care about who or what waits for them. They don’t know how many times Stargate Command has saved their planet, just continue to be mollified with objects and materials like an infant stretching for a rattle.

“It’s probably very overwhelming being here.” They both stare out the shop’s front window through the arms of pale statues of faceless and hairless people that model the available styles. Another thing so indicatively Tau’ri and simultaneously, terrifying.

“You know, I’ve been to marketplaces all over this galaxy.” Has traipsed through commerce planets where the whole population, all the cities, make up a planetwide shopping mall, and it was never as overwhelming as this. Just the sheer amount of people, of materials, the flashing signs for foods and drinks, the music of different genres, different volumes, blaring in each store. The lack of fresh air, even an open window, or the interactive bartering with a merchant. “But none have ever been quite like this.”

“Well, we’ve been shopping for almost three hours. You got the clothes you wanted in case we need to go civilian, and I picked up those boots that were on sale.” She sets the group of hangers from her purse back onto the nearest rack and hikes up a large, white plastic bag holding her previous purchases. “Why don’t we go to Starbucks?”

“What a Starbucks?”

“It’s a chain of coffee stores.” Samantha nods her head to the entrance of the store guarded by those metal rods that seem to be everywhere in order to deter theft. Doesn’t know how or why anyone would ever need to steal anything on this planet as all it seems to offer is opulence.

“I don’t like coffee.”

They reabsorb into the masses of people littering the atrium, moving stairs slinging some up, others down, and the crowd makes her feel unwell, reminds her of the holidays Qetesh would enforce, the masses of people who needed to bow and give thanks for their mere pittance while she loomed above them, golden-eyed with diamonds woven into an outfit that was little more than a mesh.

Sam nudges her, bringing her attention back to the mall, to the people filing around them as they trudge against the current of unpleasant faces. Her two previous trips into the city were more well received, the people she met were, for the most part, compassionate and kind, she felt safe and accepted.

Here though—

“Are you okay?” Sam tugs her to the side standing behind a potted fern that upon a second glance is fake.

She inhales and swings her arms full of bags. “Of course, Darling. Why?”

“Because I just told you twice that Daniel’s coffee is toxic sludge, and you have to try a mochaccino.”

“Then let’s off to this Starduck and see what the little fellow has to offer.”

“It’s Starbucks—” Sam, perhaps knowing her too well after ninety minutes spent somewhere called Victoria’s Secret, re-narrows her eyes still sensing something is off. “Are you sure you’re okay?”

“Yes, if anything my feet are sore from trekking around this mall in these shoes.”

“I thought you wore shoes like this all the time.”

“Yes, when I was Qetesh, but then she would just let me experience the pain center of the brain, so I suppose—” trails off as her friend’s face falls, because that’s what she is, a friend. She hasn’t had one of those since she was wearing cloth bags. “Sorry.”

Sam remains concerned for a moment more before a grin flickers on her face. “How about after Starbucks we get a pedicure? I bet you’ll love it.”

She has no idea what either of those things are, and she’s not used to depending on someone as much as she depends on the team to lead her through important Tau’ri customs, to protect her both on and off missions.

But for some odd reason, she does.

“Lead the way.”

 


	2. Gran Protector

“I take it the meeting with your dad didn’t go well.” Mitchell glances up from the reports he’s reading in the debriefing room. Doesn’t know why he never utilizes the office that the military so adoringly bestowed upon him. She’s been vying for a better suite, perhaps a room with an attached washroom wouldn’t be so hard to procure since she’s the only member of the team whose permanent residence is this rock formation. It would be lovely to not have to pull on eight layers of clothing before skittering down the hallway at night just to urinate.

“What gave it away?” Slumps down into the seat across from him, elbows hitting the tabletop and jittering his coffee that smells nothing like the Starducks from earlier this week.

His eyes dart to the report he’s in the middle of writing, and then to her, indicating that perhaps this is a conversation best left for another time. She blinks, turning her eyes away from him and pushes herself to stand.

“Because you’re still in civilian clothes.” He caps the pen and then sorts his papers into a thick pile.

Doesn’t quite understand if the comment is a backhand beratement, but she plucks at the modest brown shirt, and then gazes back to him. “I didn’t know, I can go—”

“No. No. Vala, I mean you dressed up to go shopping with Sam last week.” His arms cross over the tabletop, and his eyes squint. “When you came to my high school reunion you looked great.”

“So—”

“So why didn’t you dress up to meet your old man?”

Would like to point out that it’s so easy for everyone to judge her when they haven’t had the same experiences as her. So quick to come to the aid of her father, who never came to her aid, but rather, frequently used her as a scapegoat. A father who knows nothing of the hardships she been through after she snipped him out of her life, or that the majority of memories she has of him are of pure abandonment.

But as much as she’d like to explain the effects of her father’s presence, the constant reminder of an old life before Qetesh wherein she had aspirations and loved ones who truly loved her back, Mitchell is not her friend and most likely doesn’t care about the implications. He’s her co-worker and probable boss, she’s still unsure of that fact. So instead she nods at his words, saying nothing and moving to raise again. “I’m sorry if my father inconvenienced you this afternoon.”

“Vala,” he groans, hiding his head against his palm, then reaching out to hold her hand in place, to keep her in the conversation. “Your dad’s an idiot.”

“Obviously.”

“But he’s still your dad.”

“Not by choice.”

“You fine with not seeing him again?” The question is blunt enough to end the machine gun retorts.

She blinks at him once, angling her head in thought at the words, at the consequence to them, at the meaning behind them. What benefit would Mitchell have if she were to never see her father again, perhaps everyone would stop talking about it which is probably bothersome. Her fingers twitch under his palm, and he reels his hand back.

“Yes.”

His attention falls back onto the stack of reports. He licks the tip of his index finger and draws one page from near the bottom settling it slanted across the table. “Then don’t see him again.”

Arches an eyebrow, craning her head forward trying to determine the emotion on his downturned face. “That’s it?”

“That’s it.” Repeats and scratches his boxy signature to the bottom of the form. He flips it, then slides it towards her with one hand as the other hands her his pen. “I need a second signature on this one, someone from the team.”

“What—” blinks at him, at the wilt in the conversation, at the report he wants her to sign. “What is it?”

“A request to cut Jacek’s monthly allowance.” She doesn’t offer any further questions or move to sign the report that her eyes flicker over, verifying Mitchell’s words. He tenses up when she doesn’t immediately flourish it with her signature, and his hand rubs at the back of his neck, his skin blooming with a slight blush. “He’s been conning some of the older women in the building. I want to make sure they get their money back each month.”

“Cameron Mitchell patron saint of the grandmothers.”

“And don’t they know it.”

Scrawls her signature in the appropriate area and slides the page and pen back towards him. Really stands this time, straightening out the bottom of the plain shirt she purchased during her two-week stint as a waitress at Sol’s.

“Vala?”

“Hmm?”

“You’re not like him.” He stops his writing all together with a small smile on his face. “Well not anymore.”

“Thank you.” Doesn’t add a ‘darling’ or his name because she’s so taken aback by the kindness, the understanding that she’s unsure how to react.

Then, when standing on the threshold of the room, she pauses because she has an answer. “Cameron?”

“Yeah?” Glances up again, his head rather close to the report, like it might try to sneak away if he doesn’t keep direct eye contact on it.

“I respect you. I respect Sam.” Fingers play in the frayed hem, fabric unfolded from loose stitches and the shirt still smells a bit like oil from the fryer. “That’s why I dressed up.”

 


	3. Road Trip

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Still having trouble writing the last two chapters. So there might be a hold on this story after the next chapter is up.

It’s the midafternoon when they pile back into his car, Sam speaking in his ear telling him the coordinates for Jacek, which is a few miles outside the city. He rips the door open, shoving the keys into the ignition, his radio blasting from where she left it on the top hits station, and with one hand on the wheel he starts to fumble with his seat belt—then he realizes she’s not in the car, her face peering through the passenger’s side window.

“Vala!” Shouts at her as he lowers window. “Get in the car.”

“Daniel, I—”

“Look, I know it must be hard dealing with your dad acting the way he does, but time isn’t exactly on our side here.” Yanks the seat belt, buckling it into place and adjusts his rear-view mirror to find her still waiting outside, stifles a roll of his eyes because she’s overly sensitive when she feels vulnerable, and she never lets him know when he’s upset her, so he can only guess that he’s currently toeing the line.

He leans over, elbow buried into the center console compartment, depressing the faux leather fabric as he tries to coerce her into the car, and it makes him feel really creepy. “Is whatever this is so important that it can’t wait for us to save the planet?”

She crosses her arms and raises and eyebrow at him which usually signifies a challenge, and he probably just stuck a big toe right over that line. “Yes. It is, Daniel.”

Groans, dropping his head because now after he hears her out, he’s going to have to drive out of city limits with her and listen to her complaints about him, about the SGC, when all they’re really doing is their best. “Then what is it?”

“I can’t get in the car because you’ve left the passenger’s door locked.”

Stares at her, squinting, trying to discern if she’s telling the truth and she just smirks at him, bouncing back on her heels and almost silently whistling. Stretching an arm back he unlocks all the doors, and she immediately climbs into the seat beside him, fastening her belt as he roars out of the apartment complex parking lot.

They’re twenty minutes into driving, into a completely silent drive save for the wheels of his car rolling over certain potholes in the road, and the low drone of today’s hit music, before either of them says a word to each other.

He should apologize for taking her dad’s side over hers, for using her to play a part in this plan, especially because he knew, without a doubt, that she would listen to him, not even listen but obey. Knew he could count on her to play her part without even knowing that she won the role because despite what she says, she does trust him, does value his opinion, well, she used to, maybe not so much anymore. 

As the fourth commercial for the same musical movie comes on in a row, he reaches forward, turning down the volume, waiting a beat as his tires continue to skim over the surface of the freeway before he acts against his better judgement. “I’m sorry.”

“What?”

“I’m sorry.” Tries to keep the impatience out of his voice, the bitterness that starts to grow on all his words whenever she does something that irks him.

“ Oh.” When he chances a glance away from the road, she only blinks a couple of times, her eyes a little wide. “Why?”

And against his better judgement, he decides that now is the time to lie to her, when she’s already vulnerable and been hurt by one man that she cares about. “For locking you out.”

“Oh.” She sighs, and it’s simpler, she also seems to move away from him in the chair, leaning on her elbow against the door. “I’m just surprised you remembered how to operate this piece of heavy machinery, seeing how you’re so intent in catching my father in the act of treason after being such a loyal supporter of his.”

Flicks on his signal light to pull off the ramp. She’s so dramatic sometimes, but other times he deserves it. They needed Jacek to go along with the plan, and of course the easiest way to accomplish that was put her in the center of it. They’re always using her as a Deus Ex of some kind, and everyone comes out in perfect condition, everyone but one person.

“Look—”

“No Daniel, you—not even just you, the team, your military—you keep me pent up in that mountain, afraid that I’ll cause harm if released into your town for a single night, but when my father, a man I warn you about, comes, you automatically give him diplomacy, purchase him an apartment, give him a stipend, all for—”

“I’m sorry, Vala.” Slows his speed as they enter the area of a national park, rolling along the well traveled dirt roads towards a pavilion.

“Yes, I know.” Tucks one leg up underneath her, and if he weren’t in the middle of apologizing he would tell her no shoes on the seat. “Next time just please check the door, before reprimanding me so thoroughly.”

Waits to enter the park, two cars ahead of him in the lineup as the rangers talk about something.

“I meant I was sorry about how I treated you.” Her head rips towards him so fast she might have whiplash. “I—uh—I never should have inveigled you to spend time with him if you didn’t want to. I can see how much it upset you.”

“It’s fine.” Seems to approve of his genuine apology as she gives him a once over and nods. “I’m just upset because this is my first road trip.”

He laughs, rolling down his window and inching forward to greet the rangers. He hands them his military card, which tends to get him into any area without much fuss, but one of the rangers, crouches on his knees, to get a look at Vala, who’s turned away staring out her window.

“Everything okay, Ma’am?”

“Hmm?”

“Everything—” and the ranger slides his pupils to him with a disturbing suggestion “—okay?”

“Oh yes.” She pulls on that beam, her hands resting on her leg still tucked beneath her, and with a coquettish fan of her lashes she answers, “it’s my first road trip.”

 


	4. Foreign Bodies

She sits atop a gurney in the medical bay sequestered by herself, just appreciating her luck that it wasn’t her turn regain consciousness within the bed again. After every off-world mission she needs to get a regular medical checkup, which includes blood samples, inoculations, and a check of her temperature, heart rate, and blood pressure. Knows and obeys the barbaric rituals of the Tau’ri because heaven forbid she’s the one that brings back the next plague.

However, she does not understand the need for her to follow through on such practices after a sojourn to their own planet.

Rarely does she get to go on an expedition onto the actual soil of the planet she’s protecting, and whenever she does, she’s put through the same procedures.

“It’s just protocol,” Daniel relayed to her as he abandoned her at the medical bay entrance. By the time she moved to ask why sixty percent of the team were able to leap over this protocol, he had engaged the automatic doors, leaving her inside, staring at the dull metal.

Dr. Lam shoots through her list of the usual questions: how does she feel? Does she have any discomfort? Did she come into contact with any questionable bodies while on the mission? She answers that she zatted Muscles and had to roll his body, corpse heavy, into a recovery position which required strenuous activity and precarious placement of her feet and if that is considered a questionable body.

Dr. Lam doesn’t react to her attempts at humor much anymore. Before she would be met with disdain and the previous question restated in a harsher tone, instead the doctor chooses to purse her lips, and draw the blood without any further clarification.

“I know this all seems really tedious right now.” Lam slaps a sticker onto the second little vial of blood and then initials it, quickly handing it off to a nurse to take to the proper storage or testing laboratory. “But one day when we actually find something in your blood, or a parasite hitchhiking it’s way onto you, we’ll be able to stop it before it does significant damage.”

“Well the only hitchhiker I’ve ever experienced was Adria, and unfortunately you were a galaxy away for that one, my good doctor.” In her defense, she doesn’t mean for it to sound as snarky as it does, but she’s had a long day, and a long week dealing with Jacek, her belied trust in him now just starting to settle in her stomach.

Dr. Lam, again, to the benefit of her character, says nothing, just slinging that cold metal disk instrument around her shoulders, and marching away from her stool.

In the lapse of a forced conversation while being poked and prodded all in the name of medical science, she sighs, tired with a bit of a headache throbbing at her temples, definitely not some parasitic agent picked up on-world, and scratches at the base of her neck.

From through the cloth curtain yanked around her minuscule area for the sake of privacy, his whispers boom out to her. “We are not of their world.”

She sits on Lam’s vacated little half-stool and slides across the space to yank back the curtain, revealing him, still half dressed in his Jaffa uniform, reclined on his cot. “Something to share, Muscles?”

One of his eyes slowly opens, to set on her, sitting on the stool at the end of his bed with the privacy curtain wrapped around her back like one of Qetesh’s finest dresses. His eye closes at the same rate and he swallows, the pile of his hands against his chest jettisoning in the air with a deep breath. Just as she thinks she might have imagined his addition to a non-conversation, he reiterates, “we are not of their world.”

“Yes, Darling, I’m well versed in the politics of my alien nature.” They remind her of it more often than not. Despite nearly a year and a half aiding the team, on bad days Mitchell or Daniel will remind her that she is still technically an illegal alien with very few rights.

It makes her feel next to worthless.

“I meant that we are not of their planet, therefore we are more susceptible to catching illnesses as they are foreign to our bodies.” He lays perfectly still as if in stasis or lost in meditation. “Therefore, these mundane practices are actually to our benefit.”

“I suppose.”

She’s not convinced.

Instead, changes the direction of the conversation. “How are you feeling?”

“It was an uneventful zat blast, I am almost fully recovered.”

“I’m sorry that the plan we concocted involved me shooting you.” She holds the seat of her chair, spinning in place until her vision is just white and metal swirls. “If we’d had enough time, I’m sure we could have found a different method.”

He sits up now, his hand reaching out to steady the stool, forcing her still. “I am more regretful that your father fulfilled the plan so well.”

“He played his part perfectly.” When she releases the stool, so does he, somewhat intent on having this conversation with her. “Unfortunately, the part he played was ‘awful father’.”

Then his hand covers her own, light and unburdened when she glances at him, his repose, his response, truthful. “You are a good person, Vala Mal Doran. Your roots do not define you.”

 


	5. Bathroom Break

Tries to keep her composure as she ambles down the slightly slanting hallway towards the closest women’s washroom. Samantha left a few minutes ago and between them they managed to drain an entire bottle of wine in the span of fifteen minutes, and while she boasts about holding her Tau’ri alcohol well, the time span didn’t agree with either of them.

And now she really has to pee.

Random soldiers, ones who she hasn’t bothered to learn the names of, the ones who haven’t bothered to introduce themselves to her, perhaps a tad out of jealousy. More concerned about her presence and post on SG-1 after only a few months on Earth and almost a year in the Ori Galaxy and then only a few more months on Earth before being promoted straight to the premiere team. No need for her to rise through the ranks of an army, or educate herself in dead languages, apparently a con and a thief was exactly what the team required.

And perhaps giving birth to their greatest enemy only cemented her position on the team out of pity.

She’s changed though, or was she changed?

Earlier in the week Daniel had accused her, or rather, said in a highly accusatory tone, that she was like Jacek when they first met, and while she understands Daniel’s dilemma and his need to appeal to her understanding nature in order to accelerate ensnaring her father for his plan to work, she barely held her tongue. Calmed herself and told him as politely as possible that he had no idea the hardships in which she’s endured, mostly likely from her scattered upbringing among absent and deviant parents.

When she tried to procure the Prometheus from Daniel, it wasn’t so much for reward as it was for safety. Had entered into her second contract with the Lucien Alliance, and had previously failed to meet her quota, therefore her tariff was raised, exponentially, and instead of delivering weapons or Naquadah, or other products unknown sealed away in solid metal crates, she was charged with stealing a passenger ship. Easy enough as she had boosted countless cargo ships before, but it needed to be bigger, better, and it needed to be quick, less her body be the forfeit.

Still haunted by her rather public take down and beating, which she was fully supportive of until Qetesh decided to relinquish the body in order to null her own pain receptors, she wanted to deliver what the alliance was searching for, and she wanted to end her contract and get out. Be somewhere relatively safe, where she could live by her own standards and no longer caged in by sets of useless rules.

Why she ever chose to stay here, she’s entirely uncertain because these Tau’ri men have so many rules that it’s hard to keep her eyes from crossing. She has to stay within the mountain, she can only be signed out and the reason has to be explicitly stated unless relating to a mission, she’s not allowed to fraternize with SGC personnel, she’s not allowed to bring food into her room, she’s not allowed to have free access to the gate, she’s not to decide her own dress code outside of her dorm room, she’s not allowed to paint or transform said dorm room in anyway. Most importantly, she’s not allowed to be upgraded to a suite with an ensuite despite being the only resident of any SG team to be a permanent fixture on the mountain, which is why she’s leaning against the wall, her head dizzying slightly, her face sweating.

“Ms. Mal Doran.”

Opening her eyes, she finds General Landry approaching her with his stern toddle. He’s dressed rather fetchingly for it being so late on base, perhaps he went for a night on the town, and she tries to quench the flare of jealousy that the old her would fan and use as a shield to protect herself from any growing attachments she may have to others, stops herself from spewing any personal information.

Instead, she’s vicariously happy for him, that someone, other than Cameron apparently, got to enjoy a night out.

“Good evening, Sir.”

“I’m glad I caught you. I wanted to speak with you about our earlier conversation.”

She tries not to roll her eyes, but in her state of slight inebriation, she cancels the action too late. Realizing her fault as the General furrows his brows at her misconduct, she clears her throat, pushing away from the crutch of the wall. “With all due respect, Sir, I don’t believe I have another conversation concerning my father left in me.”

The General, of course, old and paternal, sidesteps again standing right before her, this time holding up a hand to halt her. Another rule—authority—the need to respect this man who has apparently done leagues for his country, which doesn’t concern her in the least. But, Tau’ri men and their rules. She doesn’t want to upset anyone or appear as prideful as she once did.

She heeds his halt and doesn’t roll his eyes this time.

He sees through her obedience, dropping his hands and presents a soft smile that reaches the corner of his eyes. “I just wanted to offer an apology.”

Must mishear him in the din of the hallway, which when she double checks, is completely empty. “Sorry, Sir?”

“What I said before concerning your father—” he pauses, perhaps collecting his thoughts, picking his words more carefully this time. “I saw a lot of similarities in the relationship between you and your father, and Carolyn and—I thought if I could explain to you—”

He trails off, hoping she’ll get the gist of his words, and she does. The Tau’ri are very caring, but practicality is not their strong suit. Working on flaws through others instead of directly from the source will not fix anything. “I know.”

“Whatever relationship you choose to have with Jacek, should be just that: your choice.” He nods finishing his talking and turns to take his leave.

“General Landry,” reaches her hand out to stop him, but stops short, unable to file through her head if this is an appropriate action or not. When he stops his steps, she adds, “You’re nothing like my father.”

“Why is that?”

“Because you’re trying.”

His grin is more genuine this time, shining in his eyes as he nods to take his leave again. “Go get some sleep Ms. Mal Doran.” He takes a few steps before adding, “and I know today has been trying, so I’ll overlook the blatant ignoring of the no alcohol rule.”

 


End file.
